


Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Time, Fluff, Gen, holiday fun, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Sam and Dean watch Home Alone.
Kudos: 12





	Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals

**Author's Note:**

> For @katymacsupernatural's 6k Golden Challenge, I picked image #10.

“Okay, after binging _all_ of _Die Hard_ in three nights,” Sam started as he slumped into his chair. “Can we lighten up the mood a bit?”

From across the table, Dean’s flat stare caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Don’t you ever speak ill of _Die Hard_ ever again,” Dean ordered. He shifted in his chair to reach for his beer and set the popcorn down in its place. “Tonight’s no less epic.”

A pointed press of the remote started the movie, and Sam leaned back in his chair as the dark screen illuminated with blue text. Sam recognized the curious strings and low, thrumming brass without a second thought, John Williams’ score beyond notorious. As the focus pulled back from the tiny blue silhouette of the house, he grinned.

“ _Home Alone_?”

“You’re god damn right, _Home Alone_.”

Behind the bowl of popcorn, Sam picked up a cookie from the array they had taken the time to decorate earlier that day. “This was a great idea. We needed a break.”

Dean shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and nodded. “We deserved a break.”

Sure. But he knew as well as Dean that “deserve” and “Winchester” belonged in the same sentence as little as “break” and “Winchester”. Except that had changed, Sam thought. Everything had changed irrevocably after Chuck. And Jack. Even then, he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Chuck had definitely died. Or at least, that’s what he thought. A strange gap in his memory yet troubled Sam. Jack had returned at the eleventh hour, as was the Winchester way, and saved the world. And yet, the further he got from[ that day](https://alleiradayne.tumblr.com/post/183965301152/yesterdays-son-summary-as-the-world-fades-away), the less he worried about it.

Dean’s barking laughter ripped Sam from his thoughts. On the screen, Kevin had been blamed for ruining everything and was being sent to bed early. Something about the innocence of the movie and Dean’s pure enjoyment settled the unease in Sam’s heart. Thirty-seven years. After nearly four grueling decades of survival, of clamoring for a scrap of normalcy in such a chaotic way of life, they finally had a chance to breathe.

“I’m pretty sure this movie taught me a couple new tricks to protect our motels,” Dean started as they watched Kevin walk through the empty house the next morning.

“I don’t recall any flying paint cans,” Sam teased.

“No, but I did use a torch on the door once,” Dean replied. “Roasted a ghoul. To this day, I’m surprised it worked. Son of a bitch came right through the front door.

Sam snapped his glare to Dean. “Why wasn’t the door locked?”

Dean had the audacity to appear chastised. “I wanted the trap to work! Had to bait the thing as best I could. Don’t look at me like that.”

Typical. Sam scoffed as he turned back to the TV to find Harry and Marv casing the house. “You know, we went on a hunt in that neighborhood once.”

“Really?” Dean asked. “That house just sold for like a million and a half. Where is it?”

“Winnetka. Just north of Chicago,” he said. “Oh, I think this is my favorite line in the whole movie.”

Dean turned back to the screen. “Buzz? C’mon—"

“Sh!”

Buzz explained to his cousin the various reasons why Kevin would be fine by himself. Three reasons, in fact. A. 2. And D. Sam laughed, most of all for Buzz’s third reason wherein he explains that they live on the most boring street in America and nothing remotely dangerous will ever happen. If he only knew.

“Why is that your favorite line? Not, ‘Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals’? Not ‘Better come get me, or I’ll call the cops!’ Not ‘Polka, polka’? Why that one?” Dean asked.

“Because,” Sam started as the scene continued. “Buzz is so damn innocent. He has no clue just how dangerous that town really was, even in the fictional universe. And then I also find his bullet point system hilarious.”

Dean looked to the TV, then back to him. “Wait, what?”

Sam grabbed the remote and rewound the movie a minute. “Listen.”

_A._

_2._

_D._

“Holy shit,” Dean barked with laughter. “That is fucking hilarious, why didn’t I catch that before?!”

Sam laughed with him. “It’s subtle.”

“That is a damn good line,” Dean agreed as he shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Sam let well enough alone, rather than rib him any further. Instead, he savored the moments each as they passed. But it wasn’t until the movie finished that he remembered. He no longer needed to cherish every precious second he breathed. He no longer needed to cling to the ease in his heart. He no longer needed to worry about Dean taking care of him, protecting him at all costs. The curious man with the guitar on the beach had assuaged all Sam’s concerns, assuring him that the end had finally come to pass. That after nearly forty years of survival, Sam and Dean could finally rest.

Dean popped another cookie into his mouth as he spoke, drawing Sam from his thoughts once more. “You know,” he paused as he chewed, “this has got to be my favorite tradition. Always has been.”

Sam nodded as he regarded the still-scrolling credits. “Yeah,” he sighed as he sipped from his beer.

When Dean stood, he waited for him. “What’s got your goat? You got quiet there.”

Had he? Sam stood and shook his head. “I’m good,” he stated. “Just thinking.”

Over his shoulder, Dean’s quirked brow scrutinized him. “About?”

“I dunno.” He scratched the back of his head. In the hallway, he took a deep breath and said, “I’m still… processing.”

Dean’s glare cased the hallway before he spoke. “ _Home Alone_ isn’t exactly—”

“No, dude, not the fucking movie. The…” Quiet again, Sam shifted on his feet as one hand reached for the other. His thumb dug into his palm where he felt the tight scar tissue pull across the muscles of his hand. “We just wasted a week of our lives watching Christmas movies. I’m… not used to it yet.”

Softened, Dean’s face smoothed. A confident hand grasped Sam by the shoulder as he said, “I get it. I’m not really used to it yet, either. Hell, I’m still waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. But until it does, I’m gonna enjoy the time we have. When that shoe drops—and it will, no doubt about it—we’ll put on our big boy pants and handle it like we always do.”

He was right. Regardless of when or how, their reprieve may end. But until it did, there was no use worrying about it.

For the last time, Sam eased his thumb in his palm and released his hand. “Thanks, man. I needed that.”

He clapped his shoulder once as Dean turned for his room. “No problem, Sammy. Now, go make some more popcorn. We’ve gotta watch Kevin blow some shit up in New York City! That kid was like a baby John McClane…”

As Sam headed for the kitchen, he couldn’t help but smile. It would be a Merry Christmas, indeed.


End file.
